"Gulp." Watching the wight struggle and burn in dragonflame, Jon swallowed hard. "That's fire control magic… gods!"
He had changed class to Shadowbinder, capable of learning magic involving shadows, blood, and fire. Though he had read the Tamm Notes given by the Dragon Queen, Jon hadn't learned a single blood spell.
He hadn't dared. That "ghost storybook" had truly terrified him. The demigod Tamm had, in Jon's mind, replaced all the old spirits, White Walkers, and demons from Old Nan's stories as the most terrifying nightmare.
After becoming a Shadowbinder, he gradually became proficient with his wolf-spirit abilities and even managed to find Ghost again.
He also activated that Valyrian steel heirloom medallion (the one from Lys) and learned the same fire-controlling magic as Dany.
So, he understood how this protective "bagel ring" around them had come to be.
"The White Walkers are retreating! Look, the dead outside have fallen back into the forest!" Ygritte stood up from the ground, excitedly pointing at the wights beyond the fire circle.
"The White Walkers have pulled back! We survived—we won!"
"Long live the Dragon Queen! Long live the true dragons!" The others, seeing this, broke out into joyous cheers.
Dany didn't descend. She left the white dragon to keep watch over the suicide squad, while she rode the black dragon back to the Wall.
The sky was still dark; she wouldn't dare land the dragon in the Ghost Forest. Only about thirty of the suicide squad were left, and they had no shields. If a White Walker was hiding in the woods and shot an ice spear at Drogon, she'd be a complete fool.
Back at Castle Black, Drogon landed atop the Wall, keeping a close watch over the wildling camp below. She leaned against the warm, leathery wing and dozed off, entering a dragon dream.
While Drogon kept watch, she used the dream to inspect her meditation ring's foundation.
Having absorbed the soul essence of three White Walkers, the ring had expanded by a fifth. Other than gaining a much stronger multitasking ability, she hadn't noticed any immediate benefits.
However, the strange connection between the White Walkers and the Green Seers left her deeply unsettled.
Why was the soul essence of the White Walkers fundamentally the same as that of the Green Seers—even capable of completing her meditation runes?
It seemed she'd need to find time to talk with Melisandre again.
The White Walkers really did seem to have retreated. Dany slept on Drogon's back for over three hours. When the sun rose high and bright, no more White Walkers had appeared outside the walls.
After warning Bowen Marsh to keep a close watch on the captured White Walkers, a well-rested Dany once again flew to the Ghost Forest.
In the golden light of early morning, the thirty-four members of the suicide squad lay curled together, sleeping soundly.
Well, with the white dragon circling overhead all night, they knew their safety was guarded by a dragon, so they slept soundly—even skipping watch duty.
"Skreee—" Drogon let out a roar and landed on the scorched, cracked hilltop soil. Wildlings and Night's Watchmen rubbed their eyes as they rose.
"Your Grace, you've returned," the White Knight greeted her.
"Time to head back," Dany called out loudly.
"What happened at the Wall last night?" Jon asked.
"A dozen White Walkers led several thousand wights in a surprise attack on the wildling camp outside the Wall."
"What?" the wildlings cried out, quickly surrounding her with urgent questions. "What happened? How many died?"
"It was bad," Dany said grimly.
Before arriving, Val had already reported the wildling losses to her.
Of the twelve thousand-leaders, five had fallen. Nearly a thousand raiders and spearwives had died—true elite forces among the wildlings!
Aside from the warriors, another four to five hundred elderly, weak, women, and children had perished. By the time Dany arrived, the camp had already fallen—those people had died in the chaos.
"About fifteen hundred dead. The Night's Watch also lost more than thirty," she said.
"Only thirty?" Ygritte raised her voice, shouting, "The crows must've been hiding behind the Wall!"
"How many rangers do we even have? Most of the best joined the suicide squad. Castle Black sent out over a hundred riders—that was already everything we had." Jon frowned.
"What about Stannis?" the White Knight asked with a frown.
"He was standing on the Wall… watching." Dany was rather pleased to see the looks of discontent and resentment rise on their faces.
"All right, pack up. Let's get out of here. This ghost forest really isn't a place for the living," she clapped her hands and said.
"What about the wights? Aren't we going to catch more? We should at least go to the hunting sites and bring back the chained ones," suggested Ser Melis.
"I captured two White Walkers and dozens of wights last night. The suicide squad's mission was oddly completed," Dany said.
"And the ice spiders—I caught two in my nets," said a Night's Watchman, his face pale with fear. "Seven hells, I never thought those legends were real. The White Walkers really do ride ice spiders to hunt the living in the forest."
"Sigh, even the white wights came out—what's an ice spider compared to that?" Ulmer smacked his lips, worried. "Among the wights that attacked us last night, many were skeletons dead for decades. Think about it—how many people have died in Westeros over the past few decades?"
"Ice spiders…" Dany frowned.
She hadn't seen one, but she imagined they must be another legendary creature unique to this world—like shadowcats or direwolves.
"The White Walkers aren't stupid. If an ice spider really was caught in a net, they'd have rescued it by now," Jon said, shaking his head.
And he was right.
With two dragons soaring through the skies, Dany and the remaining suicide squad began heading south, leaving the Ghost Forest.
Fourteen horses remained. Aside from the seriously wounded, even Her Majesty the Queen got one. The group of thirty-five didn't travel far before reaching one of the hunting sites.
But neither the netted ice spiders nor the chained wights were anywhere to be found.
The tree canopy had been scorched, the upper branches charred black with wisps of bluish smoke still rising.
The hunting nets hanging from the branches had been shredded—though those nets were woven from iron wire, strong enough that even steel swords couldn't easily cut through.
Chains still hung from the stumps, but the black iron manacles that had bound the wights had shattered into dozens of pieces, their fragments coated with pale blue frost.
"So cold!" Ser Alliser crouched beside the trunk. As soon as he picked up a fragment, he shivered and threw it away.
Dany walked over, picked up a piece, and felt its unnatural chill. She sighed, "The White Walkers' ice swords can shatter bronze and ordinary iron blades.
Dragonglass is too brittle, and Valyrian steel is far too rare. When facing the army of White Walkers in the future, the best strategy is to use the terrain to our advantage and rain down dragonglass arrows from above."
"Exactly! I'll kill a White Walker with every arrow. One dragonglass arrow for one White Walker—what a deal," Ulmer said proudly.
"I killed one too," Ygritte grinned, showing a mouthful of crooked white teeth. "With Jon. He blocked the Walker's ice sword, and I ambushed it with my bow."
"Your Grace, don't you think the White Walkers last night were… unusual?" Jon asked with a frown.
Dany thought for a moment and replied, "White Walkers are intelligent, they can speak, and they're very smart."
"Even if they're as clever as humans, our ambush plan was flawless. It shouldn't have failed so completely," Jon said.
Dany's expression turned grim. "What are you suggesting? That someone leaked our plan? That there's a traitor in our suicide squad?"
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"Jon, are you accusing us free folk?" Ygritte's flat nose wrinkled in anger.
"No," Jon quickly shook his head. "There's no problem with our suicide squad. But we passed by several wildling camps last night…"
"What evidence do you have? The free folk all know I'm willing to accept them. Even crossing the uncertain Narrow Sea is better than serving the White Walkers."
"I don't know how they think, but—" Jon's face darkened as he spat out a name, "Craster!"
At that, even the indignant Ygritte fell into silence.
"Craster sacrificed his sons to the Cold God, and the White Walkers protected his family in return. Your Grace, the relationship between wildlings and the Walkers is deeper—and older—than you imagine," Jon said.
Dany glanced at the silent wildlings and asked, "You all knew Craster was offering sacrifices to some dark god?"
"Craster is not like us. He never had dealings with us," said a wildling warrior with tangled red hair.
"When did he start sacrificing to the White Walkers? Why didn't you take out that scum?" Dany asked.
"Dragon Queen, some free folk tribes have long followed the tradition of offering sacrifices to the Cold God, because the Cold God is one of the Old Gods," Ygritte argued.
"Damn it!" Dany cursed, realizing Jon's suspicion might not be unfounded.
"You're all not afraid the White Walkers might bring back the Long Night?" Ser Barristan said in disbelief.
"They've been worshiped for thousands of years, and nothing happened before," a wildling muttered.
The forest was dim, snow lay thick everywhere, and the air was damp and cold, carrying the musty scent of decaying leaves and branches. The ground, layered with brown sentry tree leaves and yellowed grass stalks, felt soft as a blanket.
Sunlight struggled through the dense canopy and finally cast specks of light on the travelers' shoulders.
Dodging a large rock and stepping through ankle-deep puddles, the suicide squad trudged on with difficulty.
It had taken them an hour to cover just four kilometers—and not in a straight line, but weaving through in search of a "spacious and flat" animal trail.
The gloomy atmosphere silenced everyone's desire to speak.
"Woo-woo—" Ghost, who had been scouting ahead, suddenly stopped at the top of a hill and let out a low growl.
"What is it?" Jon was alarmed. He quickly rode ahead and climbed the gentle slope. With just one glance down the hill, he cried out, "Be careful, there are dead people ahead!"
"White Walkers?" Ygritte, her bow hanging at her chest, leaves rustling against her sheepskin coat, rushed to Jon's side.
"Don't worry," the red-haired woman called back to the others. "It's infighting between free folk tribes—not White Walkers."
To the east of the hill once stood a massive tree that took two people to encircle. At some point, its trunk had been struck by lightning and burned white, leaving only a thick charred stump.
Now, a ring of pits had been dug around the stump, and in those shallow holes lay about a dozen wildling corpses in crooked positions. The central stump was still half-charred black.
The bodies were naked, and the fire had burned out.
It wasn't hard to imagine—a group of wildlings had sheltered there, burning the stump for warmth, only to be slaughtered come morning.
There were blade and sword wounds. They hadn't turned into wights. Their clothes had been stripped.
Ygritte said angrily, "Someone took their clothes and food."
"Hah, that's the wildlings for you," Alliser's sneer drew a dozen furious glares.
Before Ygritte could confront him with her strange expression, he quickly added, "This was a spearwife who just gave birth. But there's no baby corpse here."
"Let your direwolf find the killer's scent," Dany said with a frown.
Jon whispered a few words in Ghost's ear. The white-furred, red-eyed direwolf howled toward the southeast.
"Should we go?" Jon looked up and asked.
"Let's take a look. We need to figure out what the free folk are planning. If we let tens of thousands of them scatter unchecked…"
Dany shook her head and fell silent, but the others understood her concern instantly.
Adults turn into wights. Babies become White Walkers.
"Skreeee—" Rhaegal, responding to her summons, swooped down from the sky and landed at the edge of the pit. Flames spewed forth, and soon the dozen corpses were ablaze like torches.
(End of chapter)
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